


punishment

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Humiliation, Introspection, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Punishment, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: nikaido fails, and iemura is forced to play his hand.





	punishment

The personal office of Iemura Tatsumi is a familiar space to Nikaido and he never fails to feel particularly at home here given how long his status as a member of the Iemura Group has lasted, how quickly he climbed to ladder to take the designated and desired place at Iemura’s side. Their first meeting had been a chance encounter that spawned dozens of choices that would have looked bad to other people, choices that allowed Nikaido to become the man he is today. He has no regrets and never could even though Iemura’s eyes on him make him hesitant.

The meeting is a stuffy affair, disappointment and judgment hanging in the air. Nikaido fixes his eyes firmly over the heads of everyone in the room as if he expects someone to walk through the door at any moment and save him from the boredom, the way the old men in the room look at him with disbelief in their gazes. Only Kirinji looks at him with anything less than disgust and the thought makes bile burn in the back of his throat, his gaze hardening, his jaw set until it aches. None of them have any right to judge him. All of them have made mistakes.

“Nikaido,” Iemura says, the sound of his voice dragging Nikaido forcibly back down to earth, “you said you had plans to move the factory. Where are you moving it to?”

“Little Asia. I’ve already made arrangements and begun construction. It should be ready in a matter of days.” Placing the redrum factory on the Nameless Street was a risky shot, so Nikaido had built a backup into his plan the moment he came up with it.

Someone at the table snorts, but Nikaido refuses to meet the man’s eyes. “And how do we know this one is going to do any better than the last one did?”

“We can only handle so much failure,” another voice says, Nikaido’s fingers twitching. It takes all of his self-control not to curl his hands into fists. “How much money do you expect us to lose?”

Before Nikaido can speak, Iemura does. “Now, now,” he says, voice as level as always, calm even in the face of all of this, “Nikaido made a single mistake. No one at this table can attest to no bad decisions, correct? Comparatively, his was a small one easy to recover from.”

The volume in the room drops significantly then and Nikaido exhales slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. The rest of the meeting carries on as per usual, and he chimes in only when necessary, disinterested in conversing with any of these people, of acknowledging the way Kirinji looks at him like a dog desperate to please its master. When the room empties out slowly, Nikaido watches each of them leave, pleased as the number of people in the room steadily drops. It’s when he crosses the room himself, intent on retiring for the day with something that burns more than his own disappointment in himself, when Iemura speaks again.

“Kain.” The single word makes the hairs on the back of Nikaido’s neck stand up. “Lock the door.”

Nikaido squeezes his eyes shut, hands curling into fists as he stands in the doorway. “Sir,” he says carefully, testing the word on his tongue. “What can I assist you with?”

Iemura sighs softly. “Lock the door. I don’t wish to have anyone intruding on us.”

With swift, practiced movements, Nikaido locks the office doors and turns to face Iemura once more, his knees already weakening as he approaches the desk with small and measured steps. His iron control did not exist before he joined the Iemura Group, having built it carefully brick by brick until he had walls securing his thoughts and emotions. Being such a blank canvas ensures that no one can find weaknesses in his armor to exploit, but he had not built such defenses on his own, having had help to do so. Iemura knows him inside and out, and though he would never exploit Nikaido for his own gain, there are simply some things that cannot be avoided.

If this is the punishment Nikaido is to receive, he should be thankful.

“I don’t like bringing this into our personal relationship,” Iemura says softly, and he truly sounds like he regrets it. “But I told you  _ specifically _ not to let your past cloud your judgment, and you have done just that. Since when do you have such a rebellious streak in you?”

The question makes Nikaido flinch away, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, unwilling to meet Iemura’s gaze right this moment. The shame burns through him harder and more fiercely than it had when it was anyone else from the group, anyone else judging him for his mistakes, for looking at his methods and finding them wanting. Nothing makes him feel worse than the tone of Iemura’s voice, not angry but disappointed, knowing he can do better than this and yet he still came up short and cost all of them in the process.

Nikaido wets his lips. “I apologize,” he says, embarrassed at how low his voice is.

Again, Iemura sighs. “Kain,” he says, and the name makes Nikaido squirm in place with the weight behind him, the impact, “I can’t simply accept that, and you know it. I would have let this go, but I  _ told _ you, and you disobeyed. And I told you that for your own safety.”

“Yes, Sir.” Nikaido bites down on his lower lip so hard it hurts, threatening to bleed.

“Come here.” Iemura taps the desk just once. “And come quickly.”

The distance between them seems impossible to cross but Nikaido forces his legs to comply, stopping at Iemura’s side, his hands at his sides, his eyes still fixed on the floor. When Iemura slips a finger beneath his chin and tilts his head up, Nikaido is forced to meet Iemura’s eyes directly and it makes him want to hit his knees on the floor and  _ beg. _ Anything better than being looked at like this, like he should have done better, like he failed more than he did.

Only Iemura can bring his faults and flaws into sharp relief with so little.

“I don’t want to punish you,” Iemura informs him, “but I don’t have a choice.”

Nikaido nods once, jerkily. “Of course, Sir. I understand.”

One hand catches the end of the thin white scarf around Nikaido’s neck, pulling it free from its place and so slowly that Nikaido can feel each centimeter of fabric sliding from around his neck. “Remove your jacket and roll your sleeves up to your elbows. You’re going to be losing use of your hands for this punishment.”

Valuing iron self-control means always having control of yourself, so what Iemura asks makes Nikaido’s stomach tighten. He carefully slips out of his jacket and folds it neatly, draping it on the edge of Iemura’s desk before rolling his sleeves up as directed. Every movement is methodical, his brain threatening to shut off rather than deal with the fact that the man who plucked him out of nothing and gave him a lavish lifestyle, helping him realize who he was always meant to be, is looking at him like all of his mistakes are hanging over his head.

“Turn around,” Iemura says once his sleeves are in place.

Nikaido turns, already tucking his hands behind his back, knowing what comes next. His scarves aren’t long but the fabric stretches and it takes little time for Iemura to thread it between and around his arms, around his wrists, rendering his arms immobile from the elbow down and keeping them bound behind his back. The loss makes Nikaido tremble faintly, never thrilled with bondage when it comes to punishment. He doesn’t like losing control.

“Hush, Kain.” Iemura turns him back around and stands as he does, hands touching Nikaido’s face so softly he wants to cry. “It’s a simple punishment. You’ll be just fine. Color?”

The question makes Nikaido swallow, his throat tight. “Green, Sir.’

“Good. I’m  _ frustrated _ with you. I’m not angry. I want you to understand that my orders are for your benefit and not merely my own, nor are they an attempt to render you caged and unable to do as you please.” Iemura unbuckles his belt, slipping it from the loops, and Nikaido flinches away when he sets it on the desk. “ _ Stop. _ I’m not going to use that on you.”

“Sorry, Sir.” He feels like an idiot. Iemura hasn’t ever used something like this on him before.

Ordinarily, punishment could be anything as long as he could take the pain, the sting, the welts and possible bruises left behind. But Iemura was firmly against such methods, said that Nikaido had come to him bruised and scarred enough, that such punishment from the world only threatened to ruin him instead of aid him. There were better methods, more thorough that would yield better results. Violence would be left to men like Kirinji who thrived off of such things and had little place in the private relationship the two of them kept hidden away.

Iemura unfastens his pants, tugs them and his underwear down his knees. “On my desk.”

Without his hands and with his clothing openly hindering his movements, Nikaido just manages to sit on the edge of the desk without falling. He feels painfully vulnerable like this and has to bite his tongue hard when Iemura sits back down in his chair, looking perfectly in place here in his office. It’s  _ embarrassing _ and Nikaido tilts his head back, trying not to let himself get overwhelmed, not in front of Iemura and not like this.

“Don’t hide from me, Kain.” Iemura’s hand comes to rest on his bare thigh and the touch anchors him. “Look at me. Let me see your face.”

Nikaido’s neck rolls without his permission, his face burning as he meets Iemura’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he manages, trying not to squirm. The wooden top of the desk is cool and his skin is burning. “I shouldn’t have disobeyed. I shouldn’t have assumed I knew better than you did. I shouldn’t have ignored your orders. I’m sorry.”

“I know that, and I believe that you are. You’re a brilliant man.” Iemura’s other hand comes to rest on his other thigh and Nikaido shivers at the touch. “But that won’t free you from your punishment. I think a lingering reminder will serve you better.”

“Yes, Sir.” Nikaido is willing to accept that. He should be punished.

The hands on his thighs slide upward and Nikaido’s thighs spread as far as his pants allow, his body presenting itself without him having to think about it. When he had lived on the Nameless Street, he’d been grateful to hide himself between the layers of clothing needed to survive because he could be anyone he wanted, shapeless under the dark fabrics. The Iemura Group granted him money and a chance to make all the changes he needed to make to himself to be who he truly was, and Iemura himself allowed none of the others to say a word against him.

He’s never been ashamed in front of Iemura. This man looked at him when he was nothing and decided to give him everything. How could he ever be ashamed?

“I don’t enjoy punishing you.” One hand slides higher, cupping over his mound and Nikaido’s breath catches in his throat. “I’m only doing this because I have no other choice.”

“Of course, Sir.” Being touched so brazenly still renders him nearly speechless. There had been those on the Nameless Street who chased him, but all of them fumbled, uncertain and shy, inexperienced and lacking confidence. Iemura touches Nikaido’s body like it belongs to him, and in a way, that might be accurate.

Iemura’s other hand slides up to grip his hip, holding him in place while the hand between his thighs shifts, fingers slipping between his labia, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s already wet, the simple act of being undressed enough to kickstart his body’s interest. “You are rewarded when you do well. I prefer that. Please, do a better job next time.”

“Yes, Sir.” Nikaido’s voice threatens to break as knowing fingers ghost barely over his clitoris, the phantom sensation making his thighs twitch. “I w-will, Sir.”

Iemura’s hand drifts up from his hip to touch his face, thumb pressed into the corner of his mouth. “Good boy. Now take your punishment and you’ll be rewarded well.”

His fingers press into Nikaido’s clit more firmly, pressing as he rubs over the sensitive hood, the direct contact making Nikaido’s thighs tremble. Even with so little touch he’s already wired to Iemura’s touch, his nerves sparking and his body responding with almost ludicrous speed. His stomach is already tight, a slow warmth spreading through his legs and he whines, presses his face into Iemura’s hand, needy for his attention. He  _ hates _ being punished but he knows better than anyone that all of his punishments were earned, always the result of his actions.

Iemura’s hand shifts and it’s his thumb massaging slow circles into Nikaido’s clit then, fingers curling inside of him, two to start and enough to make the stretch burn just a little even with how ridiculously wet he is from the most minimal attention. It makes his spine bow, his lips parting around a silent sound, shame burning beneath his skin at the sounds his body makes, the wet sucking noises that come from between his legs every time Iemura presses his fingers in deeper, the slight resistance in the muscles nothing compared to his body’s own excitement.

“You always act like you think you’ll die the moment I tell you I need to punish you, and yet,” Iemura murmurs, a fondness dripping from his voice that makes Nikaido ache. “And yet, you’re always so excited the moment I touch you, Kain.”

Nikaido whines and wishes he had his hands free, wants to hide his face behind them, but the soft chuckle his actions receive only make him want to curl up and hide that much more.

“I appreciate it.” Iemura’s fingers curl forward and Nikaido’s entire body jolts, his thighs snapping shut at the sudden sensation, the pleasure so overwhelming and sudden it almost hurts. “Ah, ah, now, open your legs for me. Be a good for me, now.”

It takes effort to pull his thighs back apart, his hands curling into fists, arms straining against the soft material of his scarf. “S-Sir, please.” He has to fight hard not to squirm.

“Hush, now.” Iemura’s hand is on his face again, stroking his fevered skin. “Be good.”

The fingers inside of him keep focus on the spot just inside of his body, slow strokes and gentle massaging movements that make his legs tremble and his hips hiccup on the desk even as he burns with humiliation at how his body responds to this, to  _ punishment. _ The slow heat building in his gut is impossible to ignore and Nikaido moans softly, low in the pit of his throat, eyes falling shut. It’s so easy to give in, to let himself get carried away with how good it feels—

“Kain.” Iemura’s voice is firm, Nikaido’s eyes snapping open at his tone. “I did not give you permission to orgasm. If you do, the punishment will be more severe.”

“S-Sir?” Nikaido blinks at him, not quite sure he understands.

Iemura meets his gaze, his own hard. “You are  _ not allowed _ to orgasm. If you do, the punishment will be far worse. Do you understand me?”

Nikaido inhales, squirms on the desk. “Y-Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Iemura’s hand still inside of him. “Color?”

“Green.” Nikaido curls into himself one more, shivering all over.

The heat in his body slowly subsides, the trembling leaving his legs, and then Iemura moves his fingers once more, this thumb rubbing irregular circles into Nikaido’s clit, the rhythm just off, not something he can easily predict. It makes it feel that much better coupled with the steady pressure inside of him, the pressure against his spot making colors flash behind his eyes. Maybe it’s because he’d hardly had sex before Iemura, that most of those encounters left him wanting, irritating him more than scratching the itches that grew beneath his skin, that leaves his body so attuned to every small touch, every press of fingers.

Inevitably, his body starts to betray him once more. His stomach tightens and Nikaido tries to fight off the way his nerve endings fire, the pressure and the heat. A broken, choked sob leaves his throat and Iemura’s fingers still again, frustration coursing through his entire body.  _ Don’t stop, _ he thinks, though he knows if Iemura kept going, he’d fall apart in seconds.

The third time an orgasm is denied him, Nikaido’s precious control slips through his fingers and he sobs openly, his shoulders shaking with the sound. “Sir, please!”

“Isn’t it frustrating?” Iemura folds a third finger in with the first two and Nikaido groans, head falling back at the stretch, feeling so full and yet so unfulfilled. “To be so close and yet so far, and if I’d just listen to you and do what you’d say, you’d have what you wanted.”

The meaning of his words crashes into Nikaido. “Sir, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

“I know you are.” Iemura thumbs a stray tear off of his cheek and Nikaido whimpers at him, not caring how pitiful he sounds. “But I can’t give you what you want.”

Nikaido’s head drops, his eyes fogging over with tears, and Iemura’s fingers start moving inside of him once more, dragging that much-needed pleasure through his body once more. It’s not enough, though, Iemura stopping the moment Nikaido seems like he’s close as if he can read even the minute changes in Nikaido’s body, reading the tension in his body, the way he shakes.

By the fifth time, Nikaido is crying freely, tears rolling down his cheeks, helpless little whines and sobs slipping from his throat. His face is hot and it hurts, his eyes sore, and every touch feels cruel instead of kind but his body is desperate, strung so taut that it only takes a minute movement to ratchet him so close to completion he can taste it. And still Iemura drags it out, breaking him down further until there’s nothing left, until Nikaido can barely sit upright on the desk, his thighs sore from the constant tension, the desk underneath him wet and sticky.

Finally, Iemura removes his fingers altogether and Nikaido hiccups at the loss, pulling at the scarf still binding his arms. “S-sir, please,” he chokes out.

Every inch of his body is screaming, his shirt sticking to his body from sweat, his legs weak from this torture. He’s so needy and wet and swollen that even shifting forward makes his entire body cry out for climax but he knows he can’t have it unless he’s given permission.

He’ll beg. He’ll get down on his knees and beg until his throat is raw if he has to.

“Do you understand now? This frustration? It isn’t fair, is it?” Iemura caresses his cheek and Nikaido nuzzles into his touch needily, sobbing against his palm. “Enough to drive you crazy. And I don’t have the benefit of being able to break down crying every time you make mistakes I’ve told you specifically not to make. Do you understand now, Kain?”

Nikaido nods, crying all the harder. “Sorry, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, Sir, I promise. I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Shh.” Iemura cups his chin and kisses him and Nikaido whimpers against his lips, all clumsy and desperate, needing more than he’s getting and knowing he has no right to ask.

Iemura kisses him slowly and with a skill that melts him at his core, holding his chin to keep him in place. Nikaido goes with it, leans into the kiss, opens his mouth, lips soft and pliant, and even this small touch soothes him. When he’s sure he might not be able to breathe anymore, Iemura leans away from him and Nikaido slumps forward, the strength slowly draining out of his body, little choked noises leaving his throat.

The speed and skill with which Iemura unties his arms would have raised eyebrows, but it’s thorough and he slowly rubs the tingling out of Nikaido’s fingers, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck as he does. Even with his hands free, Nikaido dares not touch himself. He’s terrified at the prospect of being sent away like this, disheveled and destroyed without what he needs so badly. It would be deserved, he knows. Iemura owes him no mercy for his failures.

Instead, Iemura presses him back on the desk, sweeping a host of objects onto the floor in the process, leaving Nikaido feeling even more vulnerable than he already was. “You took your punishment so well,” he muses. “Don’t make me do it again. It’ll be worse next time.”

Nikaido is already so wet and so stretched out that they don’t need any kind of lubricant; Iemura slides inside of him with one fluid thrust, the sudden stretch when he’d felt so empty startling a noise out of him. He’s dragged down the desk, his pants yanked off of him so he can wrap his legs around Iemura’s waist, clinging to him any way he can. He’s so full and it feels so  _ good _ and he wants to touch himself but he doesn’t, balling his hands up into fists, biting down on one of them.

“That’s a good boy.” Iemura strokes down his side and Nikaido preens at the attention, the praise. “You’re so wet for me, so ready. Tell me what you want, Kain.”

“Puh-please.” Nikaido swallows, his voice so thick it makes him wince. “I— I want—”

“Want what?” Iemura rolls his hips, the push-pull making Nikaido keen. “Ask nicely, now.”

Nikaido gulps in air like he’s dying. “Please, Sir, I want to come. Please,  _ please, _ Sir.”

“Very good. You can come as much as you want.” Iemura brushes tears off of his cheek and Nikaido whines softly at him. “I’m not going to stop until I’m done. And remember this the next time I tell you not to do something and you think about doing it anyway.”

There’s nothing kind or gentle about the way Iemura fucks him, hard thrusts that jolt his entire body, rattling the desk beneath them and making it shake. Nikaido hiccups and lets his head fall back, his back bowing off of the wood, the friction, the impact, all of it serving to build his pleasure up to a crescendo far faster than he expects. It’s sudden and sharp and rips a scream from his throat, hands scrambling to grip the desk. His entire body shakes and trembles with the force of it but Iemura doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down.

Nikaido’s body eventually goes limp against the wood, shuddering from the overstimulation, his body exhausted after his third orgasm. He makes a tiny thankful noise when Iemura’s grip on his hips tighten, the only signal he has before Iemura comes inside of him. They stay like that for a moment, Iemura leaning over him and Nikaido blissed out of his mind, his body so sensitive and tired he just wants to curl up somewhere nice and dark and sleep for a while.

Iemura pulls out of him slowly and carefully and Nikaido can only imagine what kind of mess he must be. Just the same, Iemura tugs him off of the desk and into his lap, Nikaido’s knees not even close to strong enough to hold him up for more than the one second it takes for him to find himself perched on Iemura’s thighs. It’s a comfort to be there, tucking his head up underneath Iemura’s lap, making himself as small as he can, squeezing his eyes shut against the lights.

“You did very well, Kain. I’m very pleased.” Iemura kisses the top of his head and Nikaido makes a soft noise up at him, too tired to respond properly right now. “Don’t make me do it again.”

“I won’t, Sir.” Nikaido tucks his face against the side of Iemura’s neck, desperate for closeness.

He’s allowed to sit like this for a while until he’s coaxed off, sat in the chair on his own before he’s plied with a cold bottle of water and snacks to bring him back down to earth. It’s not always easy and now it’s particularly difficult but Iemura murmurs soft praise to him with every bite and sip he manages and by the time he’s done, he feels better.

Iemura wipes off the wet spot on his desk and Nikaido makes a noise at the sight of it. “What?” Iemura asks him, clearly amused. “Embarrassed, are you?”

Nikaido’s gaze drops to the floor. “Not exactly thrilled,” he mutters.

A finger beneath his chin forces him to look up once more. “Your body responding is not something to be ashamed of,” Iemura informs him, voice soft. “I’d rather know you were enjoying yourself rather than thinking you were in pain. Don’t be so ashamed.”

“Okay.” Nikaido nods once, and he feels so stupidly small at such words.

Putting himself back together after is not easy, and it’s impossible on his own. Iemura helps him redress, smoothes out the wrinkles in his shirt and scarf, helps him unroll his sleeves even though his clothing feels too hot and stifling right now. When Iemura winds the scarf around his neck, though, Nikaido feels more himself, and he’s content to sit perfectly still while Iemura combs his hair back into place, as immaculate as ever.

“Let’s go home,” Iemura finally tells him, helping him rise to his feet.

It’s not surprising to find Kirinji loitering outside of the office, all things considered; it seems to be a favorite place of his when Nikaido is occupied. Iemura’s eyes narrow slightly at the sight of him but Nikaido turns away, not in a state of mind to deal with him right now.

“Um, Nikaido-san,” Kirinji says, taking a step forward, dark eyes glittering with intent.

Iemura swings an arm out in front of him, starling him. “Leave,” he says, a simple word.

The ride back to the house is a short one, all things considered, and Nikaido is undressed and in bed within minutes, face buried in the pillow. Iemura sits beside him, stroking a hand down his back, murmuring soft words to him until his eyelids flutter and the world goes hazy around him.

“Go to sleep, Kain,” Iemura tells him, his voice dripping with fondness. “You need it.”

Nikaido makes a small protesting noise when he starts to stand. “Stay.”

He falls asleep with his head resting in Iemura’s lap, Iemura’s fingers stroking his hair.


End file.
